


tail feathers

by ShaneShenanigans



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: A Little Bit Of Crack, Almost Phone Sex, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, First Kiss, M/M, Shy!Oswald, here to have fun fam, inexperienced!oswald, jim is a butt man, silly fic, slightly ooc jim, time lapse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-12 18:18:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18015920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShaneShenanigans/pseuds/ShaneShenanigans
Summary: Jim checks out Oswald's butt and every single person in the GCPD at the time notices.





	1. watch him leave

**Author's Note:**

> Feels like it's been a while since I've posted anything, though I've been writing a bunch of nonsense for these two. This bit of nonsense is morphing into something tangible, so voila! A part one. This will probably come in about 3 parts, around 4k each. The second part is already finished, should be up in a few days, and the third a few days after that.
> 
> This fic is a little silly, trying not to take itself too seriously. It takes place in a post-s4 AU where the bridges didn't blow, and where Jim works with Oswald to some degree, and there's some brand of reluctant ongoing partnership between Oswald's station and the GCPD that I think we've seen canonically but only in little spurts because Jim is so goddamn fickle. Like all my fics it was supposed to be a quick thing that warped into something bigger. So, here we go. Hope you enjoy!

Technically, it was the second time.

No one was there the first time, no one but the two of them. He was a little buzzed from the champagne Oswald had coerced him into drinking. He may have also been a little swayed by the mood of the room.

It bothered him when it happened. He didn’t know this man, and he rarely even let his eyes wander with women. Not even when everyone would expect most men to, not even subtly. It helped that it was the first time in a long time that he wasn’t in a relationship, and that when he was in one he was nothing if not faithful and committed.

But he, again, was a little buzzed. He’d just kissed an old woman’s hand and watched her slow-dance with a known former mob lieutenant’s lackey who now somehow belonged to Penguin. Despite the details it all seemed so frivolous, so silly, so human. And those bashful smiles, his reddened cheeks and nose, the way he so frequently failed to meet Jim’s eyes for more then a few moments…

…Jim didn’t know him, didn’t trust him. By all accounts he believed him to be of the detestable sort but there was a shine in his eyes and champagne in his gut and Oswald Cobblepot’s lips curled into the smallest smile just before he turned around to grab a cherry and—

… down Jim’s eyes went. A tucked in white shirt under a tight black vest that matched the suit jacket he’d just removed. Solid black slacks, a good fit with well-placed pockets. He’d hid his mouth behind his glass like he was planning to hide whatever expression of appreciation came over him. Like it had been preemptive even though it was completely involuntary, intrusive, wildly unwelcome _although it was fairly nice—_

—his eyes widened the moment he realized what he was doing, and he choked on his own saliva.

_No, no. No no no._

That was the moment he made up some excuse to get out of there immediately, leaving Oswald confused with his mouth agape and an amaretto in his hand.

The whole thing felt worse after being confronted with the truth by Delaware, and it was easy to forget about it. Easy to never do it again, and easy to remind himself why he wouldn’t, and why he wouldn’t even want to.

Except that was then. Jim was an innocent man, a righteous man then. Oswald Cobblepot was everything wrong with Gotham. Black and white, no middle ground, it wasn’t complicated and everything about him was wrong. The line was clear, it stayed clear for years, but he should have remembered to be more careful when that line started to blur.

But he forgot. So instead, this happened.

-

Oswald Cobblepot was dropping by to return a favor, offer up some much needed information on an elusive case free of charge. Stick to his word and hold up his end, like any man worthy of respect.

Once finished, he’d said something snarky but clever, grinned, and turned on his heel to leave. Jim couldn’t even remember what it was, only that it made him unreluctantly feel something quite the opposite to disdain.

His head head tilted as the smallest amused smile crossed his lips, and before he knew it his eyes were trailing downward. His head lulled to the other side and he rolled up onto the balls of his feet, gaze still glued on tight pinstriped slacks until the moment Oswald turned the corner and reality returned.

Oops. Not again.

He's eyes shifted down after Oswald turned the corner, and then he started to turn around.

“Uh…” Alvarez’s voice came from less than a foot away. Jim looked at him in askance. He couldn’t have noticed that, no way he noticed that. Because of the believe in his own subtlety it was easy for Jim to make eye contact with him, gaze questioning why he’d made the sound. But panic set in when instead of giving an answer detective Alvarez’s brow simply crinkled, and he looked pointedly at a file on his desk.

“Captain, you feeling okay?” Harper asked from the opposite direction.

Jim opened his mouth, but before he could answer a chorus of laughter erupted from behind them. Their heads whipped around to find Harvey leaning back in his desk chair as far as it could go and then further, head thrown back in an uncontrolled outburst that drew almost enough attention to make Jim feel less limelighted. Or it would have, if didn’t know he was the one being laughed at.

“Jim!” Harvey put his hands on the edge of his desk and shoved his chair out. “Jim, Jim, Jim, Jim, Jim…” he went on as he trailed down the stairs from his desk to the ground floor. From there it was only a few steps until he could slap his outstretched arm around shoulders. Said shoulders were attached to one extremely mortified Jim Gordon, for whom the realization that at least three of his fellow officers knew exactly what he was just doing was setting in.

“This is one of those clayface things again, right?” Another detective, long standing but not particularly noteworthy, spoke up, and Jim looked at him in horror. “I mean, he wasn’t just…” the man looked from Jim to the doorway where Oswald just exited, and Jim wanted to bury himself alive.

“…nevermind.” The detective quickly ate his own words and then lowered himself into his chair as if to hide behind his desk. Jim looked up from him to find Lucius Fox standing perfectly still about ten feet away, holding a file and quietly pursing his lips. His face said it all. 

Jim slowly let his eyes drift to the ground in front of him, mostly because he was sure he couldn’t currently make eye contact with any of them. Harvey patted him on the shoulder, arm still wrapped around him, prodding Jim to lean on him. Mortified and having no other choice, Jim did.

“Let’s get a few drinks in you, buddy. Let these guys handled the clean-up,” Harvey suggested, and Jim opened his mouth to protest on principal but at the same time his feet moved willingly to walk with Harvey as he was lead toward the exit.

o-o-o

“It’s not a gay thing!” Harvey insisted, but Jim still hadn’t stopped frowning at him. “It’s just an underworld kingpin thing!”

“Yeah…” Jim mumbled, not believing him but also not that concerned as to whether he was right or not.

“I mean it,” Harvey insisted, “No one expects you to start eyeing up the guy you’ve been at odds with since day one in the middle of an intense liaison!”

Jim still didn’t look convinced, or any less embarrassed. Harvey’s serious gaze faltered.

“Okay, maybe for some of them it’s a gay thing,” he compromised, “That Porter? Massive homophobe, you can tell because he’s old as dirt, but for most of them—,”

“Harvey!” Jim cut in. He didn’t want to hear it anymore, mostly because Harvey was currently coming off as uncertain with what to do with the information as the people he was trying to make Jim feel better about. The longer he kept rambling, the more obvious it became. Harvey seemed to become aware of this at the same time, and pressed his lips together in a tight line.

“I just can’t believe everyone noticed…” Jim poked the side of his glass with woe. Sure, he hadn’t meant to do it, just like the first time. But why had everyone been paying attention to him? It wasn’t like he was standing up front, making an official exchange with the GCPD’s most powerful potential adversary.

Well, okay, that was exactly what he’d been doing. He had no one to blame but himself. But he was a little drunk now, and Harvey had no one to blame but himself for that.

“And you didn’t make it any better by laughing!” Jim erupted, rather out of nowhere. “Anyone who might’ve been trying to reason it away never got a chance!”

“I’m sorry! I really am! It’s just…” Harvey just about giggled, apparently replaying the scene in his head. “You didn’t just look. You had all the body language of a star-struck teenager, the peppy weight shift,” he pointed to his own lips, “the little appreciative smile…” he mimicked it.

“I get it! I get it, Harvey!” Jim grumbled, at this point just hoping to change the subject before it turned out someone else they knew was here, and overhearing them. He didn’t think any of the cops he employed were childish enough to spread it around. Harvey was likely the only one still stuck on it, because he was Harvey. But that didn’t stop Jim from feeling miserable, and wanting to drink way more.

“You know, ever since you came out to me and hell, maybe before— I had a feeling you were into Penguin. That naughty, dark side of yours, the way you only seem to go after the crazy ones—,”

“Lee’s not crazy,” Jim argued firmly, and it would probably be the only thing he said with confidence for the rest of the night, “and I’m not “into” Penguin!” He added quickly.

Harvey laughed behind his glass. “Sure, sure. Teaming up with Nygma to rob every bank in the city. Super sane.” He took a small sip, then swallowed it. “And maybe you’re not into Penguin, but you’re clearly into _parts_ of him.”

Jim just rolled his eyes, looking sadly at the last sip of whiskey in his glass. Too many seconds of silence occurred between them and Jim knew Harvey was waiting for a confession or objection.

“He’s good-looking,” Jim mumbled, and watched the far-too-big smile stretch over Harvey’s face. “Sometimes!” He added abruptly.

Harvey took a few moments to keep himself from laughing again, and instead nodded slowly with his hand over his mouth, then took a deep breath.

“You know he’s pretty much in love with you, right?” Harvey offered.

“What? No…” Jim protested, shaking his head and furrowing his brow, sure to emphasize that he felt the statement was completely absurd.

“All I’m saying brother— tread carefully,” Harvey smirked, and then downed the rest of his drink.

Jim sighed hard. “Can this conversation be over now?” He asked. Harvey placed his hat on his head, and Jim knew that meant something was happening, he just wasn’t sure what. He hoped it was that Harvey was leaving him to wallow in his misery.

“If that’s what you really want. Or we could discuss Penguin’s tail feathers—,”

“Harvey!” Jim warned, and Harvey raised his hands defensively.

“All right, let’s get out of here,” he said. “On a serious note, don’t worry. I promise you, no one’s going to care about this tomorrow.”

o-o-o Tomorrow o-o-o

“She said no one saw it coming, they had no idea!” She laughed as she cocked a pistol and then set it down. “She’s over in the back, trying to keep from busting out laughing while the cops are all shocked stupid!”

“He just…” Zsasz’s eyes were narrowed, “Right in front of everybody?”

“I swear, he must’ve been drunk…”

“Jim Gordon, drunk on the job? That does sound like him these days…” Zsasz picked up a submachine gun, thoroughly amused as he held it faced it up toward the ceiling and admired its shine. 

“Not like I even blame him though. You wouldn’t think so looking at him from the front but Penguin’s got an—,”

“Gentlemen!” A voice interrupted, and she shut her mouth immediately, “Ladies…” Oswald added, looking directly at her with a cold stare. She had to look away. “Anything you’d like to share?”

“Hey boss!” Zsasz greeted without missing a beat. “We were just talking about that thing that happened when you went to the GCPD yesterday.”

Oswald narrowed his eyes, furrowed his brow. He’d overheard some of their conversation, and despite the fact that some of it clearly had to do with him he felt thoroughly uninterested in the contents beyond intimidation tactics until that moment.

“Thing? What thing?”

“Gordon?” Zsasz said the name like it was obvious. “Checking out your butt? What, no one else told you yet?”

Oswald blinked rapidly, taking in the words with some mixture of confusion and shock at their absurdity.

“Why would anyone have told me that? It’s useless information, and it’s ridiculous,” he swallowed hard and stuck his tongue in his cheek.

Zsasz shrugged. “That’s what Monroe said, and she was there. You should ask her about it, apparently it was really funny, everyone lau—,”

“…Less gossip, if you please.” Oswald interrupted firmly.

“Right, chief!” Zsasz said, picking up and looking down the scope of an assault rifle, aiming it playfully in the direction of his partner. She much less playfully shoved it away as Oswald turned and left them to their assignment. Neither of them noticed when he paused for just a moment in the doorway, and then disappeared.

“Too bad Gordon won’t do more than look,” Zsasz said once he was gone. “He needs to get laid.” he nodded toward the doorway Oswald had just left through.

She snorted. “Like you haven’t tried it.”

“I’ve dropped hints that I wouldn’t mind,” Zsasz shrugged. “He’s just… kinda picky, I think,” he nodded with assured conclusion, and she shrugged as if accepting it as fact.

Oswald hesitated again a few steps down the hall, looking back over his shoulder as Zsasz’s words ran through his head again. He shook his head and with it shook off the ridiculous notion, and kept walking.

o-o-o

Three days later Harper was in Jim’s office going over a homicide case in for which the evidence pointed to a man having murdered his wife. It wasn’t enough evidence to convince a jury, however, and she said the testimony of a character witness that could confirm the man’s disdain for his wife— specifically the testimony of a woman he was having an affair with— could tilt things in their favor.

“Then let’s get the witness,” Jim said once she had gone over the details.

“We’ve tried, but she keeps denying us.”

“She’s refusing?” Harvey chimed in. He’d been loitering in Jim’s office on his lunch break with a sub sandwich for a half-hour or so.

“She’s barring us from even speaking to her on the subject at all, or someone is. No one’s actually been able to contact her personally about it. She owns an exclusive club in the high end of town, and she lives there too. No one but her patrons and staff get in or out.” Harper handed him a file labeled with the club’s name.

“There’s not much we can do then,” Jim said, regretting to admit it.

“I have reason to believe she’ll speak to me,” Harper interjected. “The problem is that I need a way into the club first. She doesn’t take calls, and no one there talks to cops.”

“Why you?” Harvey asked.

“I used to know her.” Harper said, simply. “If you can get me into that club as a member, I can get her to testify.” She sounded confident, and Jim believed her, but…

“Me?” Jim furrowed his brow in question.

“It’s highly exclusive,” she nodded, and that’s when she started to look a little more nervous. “…Penguin should have an invite, though.”

Jim sighed heavily, the reason she was in his office becoming clear now.

“All right,” he nodded. “I’ll see what I can do and get back to you this afternoon.”

Harper nodded, smiling a little in thanks, and left his office on that note.

“You play favorites,” Harvey huffed, and took a big bite of his sandwich, chewing it accusingly.

“What?” Jim furrowed his brow.

“I asked to call in a favor from Penguin yesterday, you said no.”

“That was before you had any evidence, and it’s not like he’s an information vending machine, Harvey.” Jim stood up and turned away.

“Uh-huh, except you’d be the first to milk him for all he’s worth,” Harvey countered. “I think you just didn’t want to see him after your little slip-up the other day.”

Jim didn’t move or react because the last thing he wanted to do was confirm that suspicion by being defensive. Luckily, Harvey just continued on.

“And how many times have I told you to trust my gut?”

“You closed that case without my help.”

“Yeah, after a very long night and a very sad lady who I didn’t have time to go home with.”“Lucky her,” Jim muttered.

“Don’t be an asshole, Jim. I could have the whole precinct laughing about your wandering eyes again. We’re all on edge, it could really cheer some of the guys up but I’ve been shutting them up instead—,”

“All right, Harvey,” Jim interrupted and Harvey just snorted and pointed his sub in Jim’s direction.

“You should start appreciating me more,” He said, then took a bite before turning to leave.

“I’ll think about it,” Jim called after him, but the door was already all but shut behind Harvey’s back.

o-o-o-o

Leave it to Harvey to be the voice in his head at the worst possible moment. Standing before Oswald as he finished up business in low-whispers with one of his men. Maybe any other time Jim would have been trying to overhear, but right now all he could think about was wondering how many people Harvey was “shutting up.” How many people were still talking about it?

And now a worse thought, what if Oswald knew? He wasn’t naive enough to think there weren’t still cops that had a connection to Penguin. Hell, now especially was likely the safest time for them to be dipping their hands in the dirt. If everyone at the GCPD knew from some high-school-esque word of mouth, it wasn’t outlandish that Oswald had heard about it in some regard too.

He kept trying to remind himself that these were adults he was dealing with and there was no way they’d let their focus linger on something long enough for it to get so out of hand. But it always sounded like bullshit.

“Ah!” Oswald suddenly exclaimed and Jim jumped. He actually jumped. Both Oswald and the man he’d been speaking to looked at him cock-eyed.

“A little jumpy today, aren’t we Jim?”

“Are you done?” Jim asked gruffly and Oswald countered with the most exaggeratedly unmoved expression Jim had seen on him yet.

“All right, shoo.” Oswald said, waving the man off, who left not without shooting Jim some kind of insinuating smirk that made Jim’s mind short-circuit. 

“What is it you need?” Oswald asked, folding his hands in front of him at his desk like a guidance counselor condesceningly addressing a student.

“A way into Veil. It’s a club uptown. Do you know it?”

Oswald’s face turned thoughtful, he bit his lip, and stood up.

“I do,” he turned around to face the array of book cases behind him. Jim could have slapped himself as his eyes almost drifted down. And then once again as Oswald stood on his toes to reach up and pull down what appeared to be a binded log.

“You’re awfully helpful today,” Jim said, the suspiciousness of it allowing him to think a little more clearly about business.

Oswald clicked his tongue. “Guess I woke up on the right side of the bed,” he said, “… and you’ll owe me, of course, as there’s nothing I need from you right now.”

‘You’ll owe me’ was a phrase Jim used to hate hearing from Oswald, and while it wasn’t exactly pleasant to think about now, the things currently at stake outweighed that unpleasantness. This was the sort of work he did now.

“What do I need to get in?” Jim asked, rushing Oswald despite his generosity. It made him feel a little bit better about the dishonesty of it all.

“A badge,” Oswald seemed content to ignore his curtness, and after looking something up in the log, he turned and crossed the room to a series of lockboxes on the far wall. “It’s the only way you’ll get in, and you’re lucky I have one.”

He bent over and—

—well, that was when for a moment, Jim’s thoughts spilled off course into a train wreck, and he found himself pointedly looking anywhere but at Oswald.

He swallowed, hard. It was his own fault. If he hadn’t done it at the GCPD no one would have noticed and if no one would have noticed he could have shrugged it off and he would have been thinking about it now but he was thinking about it now and that made it _so fucking hard not to look._

He looked. Subtle, eyes drifting across the shelves that lined the back wall until they shifted down to Oswald’s feet, and then up. What was taking him so long? Up just a few inches more and… really, what could it hurt? Did Oswald know he had such a nice ass? It would have been a shame if he didn’t know.

Jim let himself look for perhaps thirty seconds before he started to feel like something was amiss. Oswald had been bending over that lockbox poking at the combination numbers for quite some time, and wasn’t it low enough that it made more sense to crouch? No— wait, his bad leg probably made bending the more practical choice. Still, it almost seemed like he was doing it on purpose, especially when he shifted his weight, which made Jim’s jaw tighten as he swallowed.

—Jim suddenly felt eyes on him, and a split second later he made eye contact with them. They were Oswald’s. Oswald was watching at him through decorative panel of mirror just left of the lockboxes. _Oh fuck._

Jim looked away immediately, feeling his face get hot along with all of his limbs feeling as if they were going to give out and just leave him a crumpled mess on Oswald’s multi-grand dollar rug. He was positive he’d torn his eyes away far, far too late.

Oswald stood up straight again, closing the lockbox. He clicked his tongue as he turned, clearing his throat as he walked back toward the desk. Instead of walking behind it he walked around it and stopped in front of it, right next to where Jim was standing.

“Here,” he said, holding out the envelope containing what felt like a small, metal object. “This will get you inside assuming they don’t know your face.”

He sniffled, awkwardly, like he suddenly had some kind of cold. Just as awkwardly, he started to nod impatiently as Jim opened the envelope to take a look. Worst of all, when Jim finished folded it closed again and looked up at him, Oswald immediately looked away, unable to meet his eyes.

“Thank you,” Jim said quickly, and turned to leave.

He got about five steps to the door before…

“Jim—,” Oswald’s tone was weak, uncommitted, but loud enough to stop him in his tracks. He did stop, turning around slowly. Some little voice in his mind whispered, this is it. He didn’t know what he was going to do if Oswald actually confronted this.

Oswald pushed himself off the desk, leaning a little harder than usual on his cane it seemed as he walked a few steps closer to regain the distance Jim had put between them. His eyes didn’t leave the floor as he moved.

“I…” he started to say, lifting his face with his eyes shut and opening them with a sigh. Jim looked into them with askance, waiting, as Oswald’s open mouth remained lost for words, lip trembling with each passing moment and every word he almost said.

“You’re welcome,” he finally said, nodding, then grinning. He jabbed Jim in the chest with the beak of his penguin-shaped cane-topper. “Use it well old friend!”

Jim took a moment to remain floored. That was it? Was he really getting away with this? 

Of all the shit he’d been through, this butt thing was going to be what finally did him in.

Still, he didn’t waste the opportunity to retreat, and was out the door before he knew he was leaving. Down the hall, through the exit, back to his car. Done.


	2. domesticity day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Added some tags specifically for this chapter. This is kind of where the silly, self-indulgent bits really show themselves. Also, regrettably, and deepest apologies, but... Warning: potentially angsty cliffhanger on this one.
> 
> There absolutely will be a part 3 and again, it should be up in just a few days.

Before nightfall the case was all but closed. Harper seemed certain the character witness wouldn’t fall through, and even Jim agreed her testimony would be enough to put him away. The whole thing ended up being one of the few easily wrapped up cases of homicide he’d ever faced, and that was certainly befitting his luck considering this was the first time in a long time that he desperately needed a distraction.

That night he lay awake, face smushed into the edge of the pillow, eyes fixed on the wall as the shine from headlights repeatedly whipped across it. He’d close the curtain, but he was sure he couldn’t sleep anyway. The cheap alarm clock beside his bed read 1:20 am, and every minute he watched go by made him feel worse.

He lay still for the longest time, at first thinking perhaps that could somehow bore himself to sleep, but instead just drifted off into a miserable trance.

A car horn blared from outside, snapping him out of it and he groaned, rolling onto his back, hand finding its way between his hips without his decision. He closed his eyes tightly. He could have taken it back, forced himself to keep trying to sleep, but why? Instead he turned his head sideways against the pillow and rubbed the pads of his fingers over the front of his sweatpants. His mouth dropped open on a harsh breath as he immediately moved his hand back up and then slipped it under the hem.

It had to stop, a voice in his mind said, but the same voice seemed to be having trouble coming up with reasons why. Why did this matter when he’d already given in in so many other ways? He wasn’t wrong— things were changing, he was changing, and he was doing what was best. What was best just seemed to come with some degree of undenied respect for Oswald Cobblepot. Respect, and something else.

 _The way he looked in his office…_ Jim squeezed, and arched his hips into his own touch, stifling a moan.

He’d never consciously admit that he thought Oswald wanted him. It felt too arrogant, too disrespectful of their history even if there had been a time he was sure of it. Perhaps the thought itself was a product of his own self-absorbtion but none of that mattered now.

What if he’d touched him, made him say what he was really going to say? _Pushed him back against the desk or bent him over it—_

No matter how Oswald felt, there was no reason to imagine his fantasy Oswald not giving into him, even if he was still coming to terms with there being a fantasy Oswald in his mind. It was easy to see the surprise in his eyes, quickly followed by the want, watch him become speechless with need under Jim’s hands. See him backed against a door and scrambling to lock it so they could do whatever they wanted.

Jim rushed to push his sweatpants down further, free himself completely as he bucked into his own touch and bent his head back against the pillow, eyes shut tight. He was in Oswald’s office, late at night in the low yellow candlelight rather than the cold blue that shown through the windows during the day.

He pressed his first and forefinger against his lips and opened them as in his mind he lowered himself between Oswald’s legs, pressing his mouth against the base of his cock, hands sliding up the backs of his thighs until he had two handfuls of—

 _—bzzz, bzzz— bzzz bzzz —_ his phone vibrated on the table beside his bed. It took a few moments for his mind to blur back to reality, but in his head everything he was seeing had frozen at the sound. His job didn’t allow for him to ignore calls, not even at 1:30 am.

o-o-o-o

Oswald’s eyes shifted to the phone again, chewing his lip gently as his index finger brushed the bottom of it, humoring the idea of picking it up to make a call. It was almost half-after one in the morning, and his wine glass was only half empty. His eyes were wide open and he sat alone at the same desk he’d been behind for the better part of the evening. Except now he wasn’t working. Now he was sitting quietly, files pushed aside, and he couldn’t stop looking at the phone.

He shut his eyes tightly. It would have been so easy. A non-emergency call past midnight has its own connotations even in Gotham. His intentions would have been clear. But perhaps that’s what scared him.

But Oswald Cobblepot wasn’t a coward, and would not be held back by fear— would he? That’s what he’d said to himself all those years ago, sitting across from an empty chair at a candlelit meal that was getting cold. This wasn’t remotely the same, and yet it was. Certainly, he’d changed, but he refused to allow that to mean he’d been broken. He would take the things he wanted, or at least chase them when practical.

Was this practical? Or was he being presumptuous? Was it worth it to try? What did he have to lose?

But what did he actually want?

There were too many questions and it was starting to hurt his brain, but he couldn’t stop them from cycling through over and over again. Dragging his tongue across the front of his teeth he exhaled short and sharp and then snatched up the phone. He chose the number from his call list with determination and certainty, then stopped with his thumb on the call button.

The chance he’d even get an answer was slim. He was probably asleep. His finger pressed slowly down on the button, and a swarm of butterflies took off in his stomach when the information screen switched to calling, and it started to ring.

o-o-o-o

Jim’s body stayed still aside from the arm he used to reach for the phone. He expected the GCPD number, one of his men, or Harvey— but he paused and his mouth dropped open at the ID.

_Penguin._

Two years ago the contact name had been _Oswald,_ but something had compelled him to change it, make it less personal. Now he knew exactly what that thing was.

If Oswald was calling him this late, it had to be an emergency. Whether it was one he cared to inconvenience himself for was another question, but he wasn’t about to ignore it. He flipped open the phone and held it to his ear.

“Oswald?” He said, voice plenty awake, suddenly aware of where his right hand still was and stubbornly unwilling to remove it.

“Jim…” Oswald’s voice sounded more surprised and breathy than strained and urgent.

-o-o-o

Oswald cursed himself the minute he heard the low voice come through. He didn’t think Jim had been asleep but it sounded like he might’ve been getting there. He’d been praying to himself that Jim wouldn’t pick up and now—

“What is it?” Jim asked, plainly.

The fact that Jim was willing to pick up for him this late was enough to comfort Oswald out of simply hanging up on him, enough to calm his rapid heart beat long enough to speak.

“I…” unfortunately, that was all he got out at first, and it was quickly followed by a heavy sigh.

“…I wondered if we could talk,” he said, and it felt like the stupidest thing that had ever come out of his mouth and he shut his eyes tightly and cursed internally.

Jim swallowed hard, closing his eyes at the soft sound of Oswald’s voice and the way it made him want to move his right hand. His fingers twitched, he resisted and remained still but failed to reply.

“If you’re not busy…” Oswald continued very softly, and Jim almost couldn’t believe the implications. It was 1:36 am on his clock and Oswald was calling him to _talk._ Oswald, who used to look at him like the mere sight of him was going to make him melt. Jim bit his lip and his hand started to move again, ever so slightly.

“…what do you mean?” He forced out.

“It’s just…” Oswald sounded a little shaky, definitely nervous, almost to the point where Jim was sure that if he didn’t give him something he’d lose him.

“Do you need me to come to you?” Jim asked, roughly stroking himself at a moment he didn’t think through and almost gasping into the receiver. He stifled it by holding his breath.

“Um…” Oswald sounded surprised, “… if that works for you I just have some things to disc—,”

“Are you at home?” Jim cut in, feeling a little bit bad for interrupting as his breath picked up. He was all but panting again and he moved to shift the phone down from his lips so it couldn’t be heard, but instead almost dropped it.

Silence is what came through for a response. After a solid three seconds Jim froze, fearing that Oswald somehow knew exactly what was going on.

“What are you doing right now?” His question wasn’t answered, and the voice that came through sounded more confident and it scared the shit out of him.

 _I’ve got my hand down my pants and I’m thinking about you._ A sarcastic little voice in Jim’s head came for him, but nothing at all came out of his mouth for far too long. He couldn’t just say it.

“I was about to go to sleep,” he answered finally, and it wasn’t exactly a lie.

“Oh,” Oswald replied. “Perhaps I shouldn’t disturb you, then—,”

“Wait,” Jim’s desperate voice came through the phone on Oswald’s end and now it was Oswald’s turn to be speechless. He bit his lip, some part of him wanting to smile while the rest of him felt like it was going to start shaking at the anticipation and uncertainty of what was happening. He waited, because that’s what Jim had asked him to do. He waited what felt like a lifetime, in a silence that made him worry Jim had hung up on him until--

“What are you wearing?” Jim’s voice came through and it was small, but clear, and despite the softness Oswald felt like he’d been punched in the face.

He closed his eyes slowly, mouth opening like he was sure he needed and wanted to respond but needing a moment to take it in. He looked down at himself. He hadn’t changed into sleepwear yet, but he’d taken off his suit jacket and socks and shoes.

“…less than usual,” is what he said, mumbling and probably trying to be funny.

“Oh my god…” Jim’s breathy voice and moan knocked the little smile off his face and he was suddenly aware of how much trouble he was in, “…how much less?”

Oswald opened his mouth but he was speechless as he was quite certain he’d just given Jim an image of his current state of dress that was extremely different than the reality.

“Just…” he paused, “…I don’t have pants,” he croaked, and he didn’t expect it when what he heard come through was a laugh. It sounded warm and calmed the rapid beating of his heart.

“You’re lying,” Jim called him out, but it didn’t stop the tiny smile creeping over Oswald’s lips.

From there came more silence, during which Oswald was mustering some more courage and Jim was doing god knows what, but hopefully still doing whatever unsavory thing the context clues had offered. Oswald found he liked imagining that.

“Jim…” Oswald whispered before he was ready, and what he received was a “hmm?” that could also have been a moan.

“I’m coming over,” he said with finality, and prematurely slammed his thumb on the “end” button before Jim could say anything further.

o-o-o

Jim was pacing his apartment. Finding himself in the kitchen over-examining a dirty glass and then setting it down to walk with purpose to the thermostat to stare at it as if he hadn’t just checked it 3 minutes ago or as if it might have changed.

He was hot. Or maybe cold, or maybe thirsty. Maybe he couldn’t believe what he’d just done. Maybe he didn’t know whether to call him and tell him to stay home or to keep taking his jacket off and then realizing he didn’t want to be in just a tank top during the arrival and putting it back on.

But he was hot.

He took his jacket off and tossed it on the couch. He’d put it back on before opening the door.

He stopped in the center of the room, bowing his head and pushing his fingers back through his hair, pulling on the ends a little before letting his hand fall heavily to his side.

He’d started something. Then again, maybe he’d started it at the GCPD, or maybe it started five years ago at the birth of Oswald’s club and was always going to catch up with him.

He nearly jumped when the doorbell rang. Part of him was still expecting that perhaps Oswald would change his mind and not come. He didn’t know why, everything in his head was a blur— he didn’t know anything.

What he did know, was that he had to answer the door.

Oswald looked like he always did. Dressed up, meticulously styled hair, definitely some make-up because while Jim didn’t know a whole lot about make-up, he knew what smudged eye-liner looked like and he’d seen it before on Oswald. He didn’t have eye-liner on now, but he also didn’t have his freckles.

“You came…” Jim said, and his voice nearly cracked at the end because he meant to say something more neutral, like “hello” or “come in.”

“…You answered your door at 2 am,” Oswald replied with some humor but Jim could see the nervousness in his body language. The way he hunched his shoulders just a little too much before he shrugged, the awkward laugh that followed.

“Come in,” Jim stepped aside, finally, and Oswald shuffled in while looking at the floor. At least he wasn’t the only one who felt surreal.

Jim closed the door slowly, probably spent a little too much time listening to the latchbolt catch as he leaned against it. He took a deep breath, and turned to face Oswald.

“…You didn’t reply to my texts,” Oswald said, facing away, though his voice was casual.

“Texts?”

“I send you some, asking if I should actually come…” Oswald said, sighing harshly, “You didn’t reply so I thought maybe I shouldn’t. But then I got angry you weren’t replying so I came here to…” he trailed off, then seemed to spend a moment trying to compose himself.

“To yell at me?”

“Yes, that!” Oswald barked.

“My phone’s in the bedroom,” Jim said, more to himself as an explanation for why he didn’t hear it going off.

“Where you left it,” Oswald said, tone half sarcastic and half nerves.

Jim didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to have to say anything. 2 AM wasn’t an hour of confessions and heart-to-hearts, it was an hour of raw desire and passionate mistakes. He reached up and scratched the back of his neck.

“…maybe I shouldn’t have come,” Oswald said, eyes drifting away, hand fiddling with the top of his cane. Jim stood silently, his arm falling back to his side as some dread crawled up his spine. He didn’t want Oswald to leave. 

He still didn’t know what to say to stop him.

He watched Oswald look around the room, just a quick once-over, and then look at Jim, mouth open like he was going to say something else. Jim waited for the words in a way he wouldn’t have wanted to describe as ‘eagerly’ but they didn’t come. Instead Oswald’s eyes just stopped on him, and then drifted down.

His mouth was still open from when he was going to speak and Jim watched his lips quiver as he sucked in a breath.

Jim’s eyes shifted to the couch behind Oswald where his jacket was sprawled over the arm.

Ah.

He’d forgotten to put it back on.

Oswald was still looking-- _staring_ , at his chest— torso, maybe a glance at his right arm.

Jim took a step closer and Oswald closed his eyes to breathe. Jim used that to take another step, maybe without being noticed.

Oswald was well within touching distance now. Jim reached out just in time for Oswald to open his eyes again. He caught Jim’s hand before it landed on his shoulder.

“Don’t you touch me Jim Gordon…” Oswald spat, squeezing his hand a little too hard and Jim almost cringed, but the grip loosened almost immediately. Oswald’s face did too, softening with surprise like he immediately felt he’d said something wrong.

“…I mean…” Oswald looked down, feeling ridiculous.

“I don’t have to…” Jim said, soft as he could. “…Obviously, I don’t have to.”

Oswald took a deep breath, clicked his tongue.

“Take your shirt off,” he said, boldly, and Jim had to stiffen just to keep himself from smiling or laughing. He raised his hands slowly to the hem, and pulled it up—

“No!” Oswald exclaimed, “…don’t,” he said in a panic, holding his hand weakly in front of him, face looking like it did when someone was threatening to shoot him. Jim let his hands fall back to his side, maybe intentionally leaving one side folded up.

“…Oswald,” he said. This was amusing, adorably to-die-for in fact and it made Jim want him so bad it hurt. Not just to touch or hold him, though, and that was where things got complicated.

“Jim…” Oswald mocked harshly, all but stamping his foot with frustration.

“If you want to leave…” Jim started, caution at least nudged in the direction the wind was blowing. “Maybe we could get breakfast in the morning?”

Oswald’s face looked like his mind had sputtered to a stop.

“…I,” Oswald barely got the word out, then he swallowed hard. “…okay.”

“…but—,” he started up again.

Jim waited, expectantly.

“Can I stay?”

Jim furrowed his brow, trying to decipher what that meant while pushing down the urge to back Oswald onto the couch and pin him to it, kiss him and touch him and _feel_ him.

“Stay the night?” Jim asked.

Oswald nodded. “It’s late, and a long way home, and if we’re going out in the morning we might as well just…” he trailed off.

“…Yeah,” Jim said. “That makes sense. I can take the couch.”

Oswald blinked. “Oh.” 

He turned his head to look at the door that lead to the bedroom. Jim watched him, vaguely wondering how he already knew that was the bedroom.

“Okay,” Oswald ceded, despite seeming like he might object.

“Just let me get some blankets.” Jim started toward a small hallway which housed his bathroom and what he used as a linen closet. He was lucky Harvey crashed on his couch on occasion and he’d set aside a pillow and a cheap fleece blanket.

“Jim,” Oswald’s voice stopped him at the edge of the small hall, just before he entered. He turned back around, waiting for Oswald to say more.

“T- …take your shirt off?” It was more of a question than a demand this time. Jim regarded him for just a moment, blankfaced, perhaps just waiting for if he planned on changing his mind again. After five seconds, he reached behind his head, grabbed a handful of the fabric in his fist and pulled it over his head. Once removed, he tossed it aside.

Oswald was still when Jim looked at him again, maybe frozen, but definitely with his mouth open. He stared for a good ten seconds before he looked at the ground, swallowed hard, and said

“Right,” a slight nod. “Good night then.” With that, he made his way toward Jim’s bedroom, opening the door swiftly and shutting it just as fast.

Jim wondered about him. He seemed so shy and uncertain, it was sensible to think he may be somewhat inexperienced given that men are harder partners to find and Jim had always felt as if Oswald never had any inclination toward women. But he wouldn’t have expected him to be quite so shy, especially given how bold he was in everything else. Perhaps in some of his dreams Oswald had been controlling, demanding… but this was something else.

He liked it, found it undeniably sincere and easy to trust, and that was just helping him dig himself into a deeper hole. Sincere and easy to trust weren’t words he would have applied to Oswald 24 hours ago. Dangerously exciting and alluring regrettably would have been, but now those would have been comforting. It would have been simple if he could allow it to just be that.

It was a good five minutes before he caught himself just standing still in that same doorway, and another 30 seconds before he remembered what he’d been trying to do. Once he did, it was a short trek to the closet and he pulled the blanket and smushed pillow down from the top shelf.

He’d tossed the pillow and blanket on his couch and almost crawled in to settle before he realized he was missing something important.

His phone was still in the bedroom.

He couldn’t very well leave it. He was technically off duty tomorrow but he was always on call, and would be all night as well. He didn’t want to disturb or wake Oswald, but…

Oswald Cobblepot was sleeping in his room, in his bed, and Jim was concerned about waking him. This night couldn’t get much more surreal. He sighed, and made his way to the closed door. He pressed his ear to it lightly, and listened. He didn’t know what he expected to hear. Snoring, maybe?

Quietly, he turned the knob, and pushed the door open.

“What is it?” Oswald’s surprised, breathy voice came from a lump under the covers. Jim couldn’t see much in the strip of light that shone through the doorway, just said lump, and the top of Oswald’s head, and his eyes. He could just barely see movement underneath the thick pile of covers.

Jim wanted to laugh. He’d apparently gathered some of the blankets folded in a laundry basket Jim had been meaning to put away for weeks and spread them over himself in addition to Jim’s sheet and comforter. Had he been cold?

“Sorry,” Jim answered as he entered despite the delay. “I need my phone,” he approached the bed quickly, wanting to get it over with. It was a force of habit to flip open the phone and check for messages or missed calls the moment he picked it up, and sure enough— 4 new messages.

He selected them, still standing beside the bed and nightstand, only a foot or so from Oswald’s eyes that were watching him.

All four messages were from Oswald.

_1:41  
Should I come over?_

_1:43  
I need you to respond._

_1:43  
Jim?_

_1:59  
I’m here._

Jim didn’t know why, but he snorted a little laugh as he read them.

“Sorry I didn’t reply to these,” he said with amusement. Oswald didn’t say a word. Jim looked at him, thinking he might be asleep. The light streaming in from the doorway illuminated his face and Jim found that he was very much awake, eyes wide in fact.

“You okay?” Jim asked, and Oswald was just staring at him, looking terrified or… embarrassed? 

“Jim…” Oswald’s voice was weak, like he’d been holding his breath… and then it clicked.

The way his voice sounded when Jim first opened the door, the slight movement under the pile of blankets that he now realized could only have been Oswald pulling his hand up from his abdomen…

“Oh…” Jim blinked.

Really?

In _his_ bed?

It definitely didn’t make him angry. It made him… something else. He couldn’t stop his eyes from shifting down to the middle of the lump that was Oswald, but immediately looked at the ground after he did.

“I’ll go…” Jim said fast, and almost ran for it—

“Don’t!”

Jim stopped.

“I mean…” Oswald’s words seemed to get caught on his lips.

“Don’t sleep on the couch.” He said, weakly. Jim didn’t answer right away, certain he knew what Oswald meant but at the same time not wanting to insinuate he might have.

“This bed’s big enough,” Oswald insisted. Jim found it hard to say no, but just as hard to start moving. He couldn’t stop thinking about what Oswald’s hand had been doing under there and in that regard it was taking a lot of energy to try and make himself stop thinking about it.

He was going to die.

Instead he took a deep breath, giving into Oswald’s eyes which had been patiently but askingly watching him.

Jim walked around to the other side of the bed. He lifted the comforter on the side no one ever slept on, and slipped under, settling in with a good foot of space between them.

He lay on his back for a while, resisting the urge to turn onto his side and look at the back of Oswald’s head. It was funny. There was not a single thing that he was more afraid of than waking up a different man. A man that understood how many different ways in which this could never work.

His phone was on the bed beside him, and it started to buzz.

He picked it up to find a text notification alerting him to a spam e-mail, and set it back down with a sigh.

Only a moment later, he felt movement beside him. He didn’t look over at first, assuming Oswald was just trying to get comfortable. But it persisted, and he finally turned his head just to glance. The lump that was Oswald was closer, much closer. Close enough to reach back, find Jim’s hand, and carefully pull it over his waist.

Jim acted as quickly as he understood, wrapping his arm more tightly around Oswald’s body and pulling himself closer. Close enough that he could smell the tips of his hair, and close enough to make it hard to resist not kissing his neck. When Oswald shuffled back even further, so his back was against Jim’s chest, Jim did.

He tucked his nose under the back of Oswald’s hair and pressed his lips against the nape of his neck. He closed his eyes as he did, and he wouldn’t open them again until morning. 

o-o-o-o

He woke up slowly, his body feeling especially fatigued, and his first thought was how relieved he was that he didn’t have to be at the precinct until someone inevitably called him.

The second was _Oswald._

His eyes flew open and he found himself in a dimly lit room, a little brighter than most mornings. It was still dreary outside as it often was, but the curtains were open.

And his arms were empty. He lifted his head off the pillow, blinking, just to make sure the lump of blankets from last night was gone. It was, and the blanket hoard itself was shoved down to the end of the bed, while the comforter Jim had been under was carefully turned over at the corner which had apparently allowed him to sneak out.

He reached for his phone. No texts, no calls. It wasn’t until he sat up to look around for some kind of note that he finally heard the shower running.

Oswald was… showering.

That wasn’t quite as weird as waking up to him singing a duet with Ed Nygma while Nygma played the piano but it was still weird. Still, it was some kind of a relief as well. At least he hadn’t left.

Jim fell back against the pillow, rubbing his eyes and then the rest of his face. He stretched half-heartedly, and then relaxed back in the same place he’d fallen asleep, staring up at the ceiling.

They were supposed to go to breakfast. Oswald was taking a shower, but would he be able to do all those things he liked to do with his hair with only the slim resources in Jim’s bathroom? Jim didn’t know why he cared or why it occurred to him, but he didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about it because then the sound of running water stopped.

He listened. To the sound of the curtain being opened, a thud of something against porcelain, as if Oswald maybe bumped his foot stepping out. Some curious shuffling— probably Oswald drying off— Jim was glad he’d been able to find a towel—, and then the door opened.

Their eyes met almost immediately, but Oswald was only peaking out.

“You’re awake,” he said, seeming disappointed.

“Yeah,” Jim said, sitting up slowly. “You took a shower.”

“Yeah,” Oswald nodded, still hiding behind the door. “Why don’t you own a robe?”

Jim furrowed his brow. “I wouldn’t use one…” he said.

Oswald scoffed. “Don’t tell me; you hop straight from behind the curtain and into your detective get-up?” he grumbled.

“No…” Jim considered telling him he often walked around in just a towel after a shower and Oswald should do the same, but that felt like playing dirty.

“Turn around then,” Oswald commanded, and Jim tried not to laugh as he nodded, and then obeyed. He heard the pads of bear feet hurry across the hardwood floor of his bedroom behind him, then what sounds like Oswald struggling to get a grasp on the bedroom door handle, and then he heard it close as Oswald apparently left the room.Jim assumed he planned on getting dressed in the living room, or a closet, or—

“Don’t leave that room until I say so!”

Jim rolled his eyes.

“Jim!” Oswald shouted, demanding a reply.

“All right, I got it!” Jim called back, then pouted down at his own feet.

He wanted coffee.

o-o-o

He got coffee. It wasn’t the cheap kind from the discount store down the street either. It was much better on account of Oswald demanding they eat some place nice, free on account of Oswald also demanding to pay, and refreshing on account of the fact that the little cafe was a few miles outside of Gotham.

Jim smiled down at his menu.

“What?” Oswald asked, almost the second his lips curled up.

Jim looked up at him and shrugged, “It’s just funny how far we went just for breakfast, I guess…” Jim said.

Oswald shrugged. “For obvious reasons I don’t think it would be great for us to be seen together. Dinner or drinks works for formal meetings but breakfast is too…”

Jim waited.

“…well, gangster kingpins don’t have breakfast with cops.”

“Of course we shouldn’t be seen, I just meant we were both willing to go out of our way for this.”

Oswald opened his mouth, looking a little thrown, then looked down at his menu as his face appeared to grow hotter.

“I guess it’s strange…” he said off-handedly, eyes fixed on studying the menu.

Jim watched him, watched him until the nervous look on his face fully dissipated and it appeared as if he’d finally actually started reading the menu instead of using it to distract himself. He watched him flip the page, watched him make a face at something that apparently didn’t sound good to him and watched him raise his eyebrows in consideration at something else.

“You’re not saying what you’re thinking,” Jim commented, and Oswald looked up, brow furrowed.

“What?”

“You usually say whatever you’re thinking, at least when it comes to personal things,” Jim clarified.

Oswald laughed, or more sputtered one out at his expense. “Jim, I have thought many things in your presence that I haven’t said out loud.”

His eyes widened and his jaw dropped after he said it, and he looked even more distraught when Jim smirked at him from behind his coffee. He couldn’t see his mouth, but he could see the smugness in Jim’s eyes.

“Like?”

“Like my plans to have you killed.” Oswald murmured, rolling his eyes and looking back down at his menu.

“Touche…” Jim said, because even though Oswald said it as cover, he knew it was likely true.

Moments of silence passed before, quite suddenly, Oswald let out a harsh sigh, put down his menu, and asked,

“Is this a date?” His voice was strained in a way Jim could only describe as antsy, and then immediately after—

“You two ready to order?” The server appeared from nowhere and pulled both their attention away.

“Uh, not—,” Jim started.

“Not quite yet, thanks, please go away,” Oswald’s interruption was somehow both dismissive and aggressive on top of being rude and Jim immediately felt small and embarrassed as the server shuffled off in some brand of terror.

“You’re an asshole,” Jim grumbled, and Oswald rolled his eyes dramatically.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“It’s a date.” Jim said, bluntly.

Oswald pursed his lips.

“So…” he started, “what happens after?”

“Nothing if you’re rude to the waitress again,” Jim said, and it was mostly an idle threat but he was still annoyed.

Oswald sighed hard, but seemed to concede to his point.

“And if I’m not?”

Jim looked down again. “I don’t know. Another date?”

Oswald sucked in a breath. “But… what would that mean?”

Jim shrugged. “Guess we’d have to figure that out as we go.”

Oswald sighed, slouching. “I never imagined being in a relationship like this…” he said.

“Like what?” Jim didn’t look up from his menu.

Oswald shrugged. “Like with a date. I always thought… I’d confess or… he’d confess and we’d discover we felt the same and from there… it’d be all passionate embrace and—,”

“That’s not how it works,” Jim didn’t know if he believed his own words but Oswald was just too charmingly naive and he needed it to stop before his heart started beating too fast again.

Oswald huffed. “So it starts with phone sex and a badly planned sleep over?”

“Maybe.” He still hadn’t looked up.

 _“Jim,”_ Oswald whined, and Jim looked up at him.

“Hey, I’m the one that _wanted_ a passionate embrace last night,” Jim reminded, and Oswald hunched his shoulders a little, face getting pinker again.

“Well… I… we… there was cuddling…” he said the word ‘cuddling’ in the smallest, most cracked voice like it was the biggest secret. “That was my idea.”

Jim thought about it, ceded, and shrugged. “Yeah, it was nice,” he said.

Oswald breathed in sharply, trying to hold down the smile that wanted to stretch across his lips. Jim’s smile was small, but it was there and he was looking at Oswald while wearing it and Oswald couldn’t describe how he felt with any word but: content.

He took in a breath, then exhaled sharply. “I’m ready to order.” He said, and immediately started looking around with impatience. “Where in the world is that waitress?”

“I think you scared her away for good.”

o-o-o

Jim was looking at his phone when they arrived in the parkinglot after walking from the cafe. Just for a moment, just to make sure he didn’t have any missed calls. There were none. Apparently the universe _and_ Harvey Bullock were determined to allow him this. Whatever it was.

“Well, that was…” Oswald started, eyes shifting around from the side of the car to Jim’s face and then down to the ground. “…nice.” He said, feeling silly but also a definite need to say it.

“It was,” Jim agreed, and leaned over to open the car door for Oswald.

Oswald looked speechless for a moment, face turning red all over again.

“You don’t have to do that…” he said, as bashfully as he frequently had been back when they first met.

“I figure you’re used to it,” Jim grinned, and Oswald huffed at him before sliding inside. Jim closed the door gently behind him, and then walked around to the driver’s side to take the wheel.

o-o-o

Oswald’s car was parked on the street outside Jim’s apartment, and Jim pulled up to parallel park behind it. It was odd to think Oswald had driven here himself. Jim assumed that there were very few good enough reasons to get him to do that.

“Well…” Oswald started, “I guess I should get going…”

Jim put the car in park, and it seemed as if Oswald was waiting for some form of agreement to the statement. Or perhaps disagreement.

“You know…” Jim tried the latter, “No one’s called me into work yet, miraculously. I still have time if you do.”

He probably wouldn’t have asked had it been anyone else in the world. But some part of him feared the moment Oswald was out of his reach, the part of him that knew how impossible this was would fall back into place. He didn’t want this to be over because _he didn’t want this to be over._

Oswald didn’t get to answer him, though. Before he could speak, Jim’s phone rang.

“Shit,” Jim’s expression soured as he picked up the phone and checked the ID. “Looks like I’m getting called in after all…”

Oswald deflated, glad Jim hadn’t noticed his face light up when Jim seemed to be suggesting they continue spending time together.

“It’s fine,” he said, though not able to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

Jim looked at him meaningfully. “I’ll call you,” he said, and Oswald answered with a smile and a nod. Oswald believed him. 

Oswald got out of the car, and went home to wait for that call, a little smile continuously finding its way back to his lips.

o-o-o-o

He didn’t call.

Maybe he got too busy— the reason he got called in after all had been a triple homicide related to Jeremiah Valeska. which of course demanded an all-nighter. Maybe got cold feet— the very next day he uncovered evidence that Penguin was involved in some illicit imports that were an immediate threat. Nothing of the sort should have surprised him of course, but he still didn’t call.

He couldn't explain why to himself, or perhaps it was simply too uncomfortable to face it, but he didn't call.

Neither did Oswald.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jim is an ass man and an asshole.
> 
> this chapter kind of steered away from the butt theme but never fear, jim will get his handfuls of ass. even if he doesn't deserve them.


	3. Chapter 3

**Three Months Later**

The sound of gunfire ripped through the air, and Jim shut his eyes tightly, finger tight on the trigger, palm sweating on the handle. The first clip was already discarded, and the spare held two precious bullets. They knew where he was, and one of them had shot his phone out of his hand about three blocks back. 

He was on the ground hiding behind some poor gothamite’s car, and it had already been shot full of bullets. He had no way to call for backup.

_God damn it, Oswald._

He sealed his eyes shut tightly, and tried to think back on what he should have done differently. Maybe he should’ve been nicer to him, or maybe he should have just shot him at the pier.

He probably shouldn’t have raided and shut down one of his most profitable drug and weapon trade centers. More importantly he probably shouldn’t have taken the dog to animal control for three days. 

Oswald was a spontaneous person, Jim knew that. He shouldn’t have been surprised when Oswald found out and immediately advertised a hundred-thousand dollar bounty on Jim’s head. Could have been worse, Fish Mooney got a million. Victor Zsasz and his peers, if he had any, certainly wouldn’t bother with it. But it didn’t stop the small-timer’s from making his life more hellish than usual and in a lot of cases, coming close to killing him.

He should probably call Oswald, maybe apologize for holding the dog for so long...

He’d die first.

He sprung up from behind the vehicle and shot his last two bullets at the approaching gang. One of them unleashed his definitely illegal submachine gun in Jim’s direction and Jim ducked down just as fast. He didn’t think either of the shots he fired hit anyone.

“Come out and we’ll kill you nice and slow!” A deep voice called out to him from what couldn’t have been more than five yards away.

“Fast, you idiot! If he comes out we’ll kill him fast!”

Jim rolled his eyes. He’d survived Jerome Valeska, Fish Mooney, Hugo Strange… and now he was going to be taken out by the biggest moron in Gotham. God damn it, Oswald.

“What if he’s worth more alive?” Another voice chimed in.

“That’s ridiculous, the bounty says Penguin wants his head. Not the rest of him!”

Then he heard the sirens.

Oh thank god.

Or thank _Harvey_ , more likely. Jim had been on the phone with Bruce when this shitstorm started, but he didn’t think there was any way they’d be able to figure out where he was. Harvey always did make good guesses.

More gunfire as the sirens got louder, breaks shrieking on the road just behind him. The sound of machine gun fire was joined by the familiar ring of GCPD issued glocks. All Jim had to do was make it to one of the squad cars, but as soon as he showed himself they’d probably target him. He was the one that was worth something dead, after all.

“Jim!” He heard Harvey’s voice from far off.

“Over here!” Jim yelled back. It was seconds before Harvey was all but sliding across the ground and ducking behind the sedan with him.

“You okay?” Harvey said, breath heaving.

“Yeah, I owe you one!” Jim said, pressing his back against the car to try and peak over it. There were five squad cars— Harvey really brought the calvary.

“Got an extra clip?” Jim asked.

Harvey didn’t answer with words, instead he fished one out of his vest and held it up to Jim. “You really gotta do something about Penguin,” he said as Jim loaded his gun.

“I’ve tried calling him,” Jim scoffed. This really wasn’t the time for this discussion, or any discussion.

“I meant like shoot him,” Harvey snorted.

Jim sighed harshly, but knew Harvey had no idea how far that option was from the table, no matter what kind of bounty Oswald put on his head.

“Let’s take care of these guys first,” Jim suggested. Harvey rolled his eyes, but agreed with a nod.

o-o-o

The gang was just as stupid as Jim deduced from their argument, and refused to back down. Two had non-lethal wounds and were headed to the hospital but the rest lay dead.

“He’s responsible for this, you know.” Harvey said from behind Jim as Jim crouched by one of the bodies.

“So are they,” Jim said plainly.

“And what if there had been collateral?” Harvey barked. “Jim, you have to do something about this. If someone innocent gets hurt while some idiot is trying to kill you for Penguin’s money… well, that’s just one more thing I know you don’t need on your conscience.”

Jim sighed, heavily. Truthfully, he would rather have just dealt with all the attacks than go see or speak to Oswald. The last time he’d really talked to him was…

…well, he didn’t want to think about it. He supposed he could try to call him, but he doubted Oswald would take his calls.

_I’ll call you._

His own voice in his head made him feel sick to his stomach for a moment and he shook it off, standing up straight.

“I’ll handle it,” he said to Harvey. Harvey didn’t reply, and Jim didn’t look back at him. He already knew Harvey’s expression would be something along the lines of ‘not convinced.’

“You want a ride back with me?” Harvey offered.

“No,” Jim said. He’d been investigating a lead when those assholes showed up. There was no excuse to shirk that duty now. “I’ve still got a job to do here.”

“Suit yourself.”

o-o-o-o

He’d been chased a few blocks by those idiots, and it took a good ten minutes at a modest pace to get back to where he’d been. He looked up at the apartment building he’d been given an address for. He was scraped and bruised and his pants were scuffed, but he hoped it wouldn’t make the potential witness he was about to meet with any less trusting of—

—he didn’t make it through the thought before a there was a sharp pain in the back of his head, and then black.

o-o-o-o

“Wake up, wake up! I’m not carrying you again!” An unfamiliar, unpleasant voice. It was coupled with a gloved hand patting his cheek repeatedly and not gently. Jim jerked his face away, grunting with warning as he opened his eyes.

“You’re coming with me, James Gordon,” the man said from behind a crudely worn ski-mask. “We’ll see if you’re worth more alive!”

Jim furrowed his brow in confusion, and then looked out the car window.

Oh… no.

He wished he'd been killed.

The Iceberg Lounge. Where Oswald still did most of his business, and apparently where this idiot had arranged a meeting. He wondered what his captor had said to Oswald to make him agree to a meeting. Maybe Oswald thought he was dead. If so, he was in for an unpleasant surprise.

The man yanked at Jim’s arms, pulling him out of the car with ease despite Jim struggling. His hands were tied behind his back, and he could feel that he’d been stripped of his pistol, as well as the knife he kept in his shoe.

The man lead him roughly toward the entrance, and while he was probably contemplating how he was going to spend his reward, Jim was contemplating what the hell he was going to say to Oswald Cobblepot.

o-o-o

Oswald stared.

He stared for a long time, seeming as if he were taken completely off guard by the scene before him.

“He’s…” Oswald started, “…still alive.” He said it as if he wasn’t sure the man was aware. Jim rolled his eyes.

“I brought him to you alive!” The man said, enthusiastically. “I thought maybe you’d want to do the job yourself!” He seemed damn proud of himself, and given the amused look on Oswald’s face, part of Jim felt an urge to bargain for his captor’s life.

Oswald, sighed hard, pushing off from the bar and approaching the man with small steps.

“If I’d wanted to do it myself…” Oswald spoke very slowly for his benefit, “I wouldn’t have put up a reward to get someone else to do it!” Somewhere along the way it became frustratedly sarcastic.

The man was quiet for a few moments, and then seemed to understand.

“Well, just shoot him!” The man said, coming up with that idea all on his own. “Then he’ll be dead!” He nodded firmly. “I brought him here, so I get paid!”

“You’re absolutely right,” Oswald stalked back to the bar, and leaned over it. Jim held his breath as Oswald pulled a shotgun from behind it. He wouldn’t…

Oswald took a few steps forward, and aimed the barrel at Jim’s chest.

Of course he wouldn’t.

Jim knew what he _would_ do, though. “Oswald!”

Oswald shifted his arm about two feet to the left, and pulled the trigger. The gun went off before Jim could protest or move more than a few inches away, and blood splattered on his blazer as the man flew backwards. His back hit the wall with a thud, and Jim couldn’t help looking back just to make sure he wasn’t still alive. The guy didn’t move, not even a twitch.

“Long time no see, Jim!” Oswald said, cocking the shotgun again and pointing it at him.

"You really shouldn't shoot a man dead in front of a cop,” Jim said boldly, taking a step closer.  
   
"He was threatening to kill you. I saved your life. I had no choice.” Oswald let the shotgun fall to his side and turned around. He walked back to the bar, leaned over it, and put it back where he’d gotten it.   
   
"If you're not going to kill me then call the hit off. Otherwise I'll find a way to put you away for it."   
   
"Your threats have no teeth!" Oswald spun back to face him and Jim could see spit flying off his lips. "And you stole my dog!" He stomped his foot as he shouted.  
   
"We held him until we could confirm he was being cared for! Finding him wandering around a drug plant doesn't exactly inspire confidence..."   
   
"I told those lowlives at animal control that he was never supposed to be there! It was a mistake!" Oswald continued to shout and Jim sighed hard. If he’d known Oswald was that fond of the dog he never would have done it. It was Harper that had been concerned for its well-being to begin with, all he did was go through the motions to check on its living conditions.  
   
"You got him back, you're a suitable owner, we apologized for the inconvenience--"   
   
"The bounty stays!" Oswald interrupted in a shout. "At least until I recover from the trauma of worrying about what could be happening to--"   
   
"Oh, please..."   
   
“Jim!” Oswald warned.

“He’s fine, you’re both fine! And while you’re trying to be as petty as possible someone innocent could get caught in the line of fire!” Jim shouted.

Oswald turned away from him, stalking back toward the bar where he leaned against it, facing away. “No one’s going to be that stupid…”

“You can’t guarantee that, but the reality is you don’t really care…” Jim was walking toward him.

“I really don’t!” Oswald laughed as he turned to face Jim again. “Now get the hell out of my club!”

“You can’t endanger people’s lives with your stupid games—,”

“It’s your fault for messing with my dog!”

“You nearly got me killed!”

“You should be more careful about going outside with a bounty on your head!”

“You’re the one who put it out on me!”

“You can handle it!”

“You’re insane!”

“You didn’t call!”

Oswald’s eyes widened after the words left his mouth, as if that hadn’t been what he’d meant to say. He only looked surprised for a moment, though, after which he frowned just as hard and jerked around to look the opposite direction for the third time since Jim showed up.

Jim closed his mouth, finding himself lost for words no matter how much he scrambled to find some. Oswald was still completely ridiculous, but somehow Jim now felt like he was the one who was in the wrong.

He didn’t know what the hell to say, and now it was becoming painfully and unbearably hard to ignore that his wrists were still tied behind his back. He tugged at the restraints, not even sure what they were made of, before—

“What was that?” Oswald turned suddenly, brow furrowed.

“What?” Jim cocked his head.

“Shh!” Oswald interrupted. “I heard something…”

They stood quietly for all of two seconds, both listening, before the sound of a metal thunk followed by what sounded like a tin can rolling across a tile floor. Jim’s eyes followed the noise to the doorway, and the small round object that had rolled through it.

“Get down!” He shouted, and took off sprinting for the bar counter.

Oswald reacted much later but was lucky enough to have been closer, as Jim dove over the counter Oswald was just in time to duck behind it. Jim nearly landed on top of him, and sat back on his butt against the bottles lining the shelves under the counter. His hands were still tied.

“Are you all right?” Jim asked, impulsively, like he would have any time a grenade went off in the field.

“I think so…” Oswald was more thrown. “Where the hell are my men?” He shouted at no one, wagging his fists in the air.

“Get your gun,” Jim advised, ignoring the outburst. Oswald seemed to immediately be compelled by the suggestion, and moved to his knees to pull the shotgun out of its hiding place.

“You’re going to have to cut me loose,” Jim said. Oswald looked perturbed by the idea for a moment.

“Oswald!”

“Fine!” Oswald whispered harshly and waddled on his knees, favoring his bad one, until he was straddling Jim and leaning forward to reach behind him. He grasped the zip-tie with one hand, and reached back into his leg brace for his knife with the other.

Time was of the essence, and it was clear in how Oswald seemed far too caught up in the danger to notice how close he was. Jim could smell his hair, it touched his nose even, and it reminded him of the night he held him while he slept. Oswald’s chest was all but pressed to his as he sliced the zip-tie, and Jim had to close his eyes just to stop himself from getting lost in it. His hands fell from their restraints, and he came back to reality and to the danger.

“There’s a pistol on the far side if you can get to it…”

“Is anyone in the room?” Jim asked.

“Not yet, I’ll cover you, just go,” Oswald said, already poking his head up over the bar counter with the shotgun and aiming it at the doorway. Jim nodded, and made a crouched dash for the far end of the bar. Once he got there, there was no obvious weapon in sight.

“Oswald, where is it?” Jim shouted.

“They’re here!” Oswald shouted back and it was followed up by a loud pop of the shot gun, then a cock of it, then another pop…

“Shit…” Jim yanked a drawer open and found nothing but batteries and rubber bands and the like. He opened another one and found only wine corks rolling around with one bottle opener. A third, and there it was.

“Got it!” He shouted, grabbing the gun and taking a second to make sure it was loaded before hurrying back to where Oswald was.

“I think I got one,” Oswald said, now ducked behind the counter and breathing hard.

“Come out, Penguin! You’re going to pay for what you did!”

Jim looked cock-eyed at Oswald.

“What did you do this time?” Jim asked.

“I have no idea!” Oswald snapped back. “Do you want to ask them or do you want to shoot them before they shoot us?”

Jim rolled his eyes, but stood immediately after, firing two shots before ducking back down just in time to avoid a hail of gunfire.

“Did you get them?” Oswald asked eagerly.

“I got one,” Jim said. “There are three more,” he shut his eyes and sighed heavily. “We have to run.”

“Are you crazy?” Oswald whispered.

“We have to, Oswald! We’re going to make a break for the hall!"”

“In case you've forgotten I’m not very fast!”

“I’ll cover you! Go! Now!”

Despite his arguments Oswald did as he was told, and immediately. He stumbled during the climb to his feet as Jim rose to shoot but made it swiftly into the next room, Jim turning to dive in shortly after. Oswald closed the door immediately behind him and then, without bothering to question why he was on the ground, grabbed Jim by his shoulders and pulled him out of the way of the door just in time to avoid the next onslaught of gunfire that filled the door full of holes.

“Jim, come on, we have to keep going!” Oswald kept pulling desperately in an attempt to force Jim to his feet.

“My leg—,” Jim said, pointing down. “It…” there was blood on his pantleg just above his ankle, and Oswald’s eyes widened.

“I think I can stand…” Jim ground out, and Oswald nodded encouragingly and got back to trying to pull him up again. Jim managed to steady himself on his feet, putting enough weight on the wounded leg to be sure that the bullet was only a little more than a graze.

It was too late though, by the time they were both solid on their feet the double doors flew open, and the three remaining men spilled into the room.

Jim started to count his blessings when they didn’t fill both him and Oswald with holes the moment they stepped through the doors. Still…

“I’m sorry I didn’t call,” Jim said, turning to look at Oswald. Oswald’s eyes flicked up to his with surprise in them. “I mean it, I should have called.”

“Gordon?” The one who’d spoken before addressed. “You sure are in the wrong place at the wrong time. We want him.”

Jim turned back to the four of them, and took a bold step forward.

“Can I ask why?”

Emotion revealed itself on the man's face. Anger, and plenty of it. “He ripped us off. Promised us half a million dollars and instead he killed my little brother and took the loot.”

“That wasn’t me! That was Victor Zsasz!” Oswald argued.

“I’m not stupid, I know you gave the order!” The man shouted over him, and Oswald didn’t seem to have a rebuttal.

“Is this the kind of person the GCPD protects these days?” The man asked. “They’ve always been crooked, but I’ve heard you prefer to think you’re better than that.”

“Jim…” Oswald’s shaking voice came from behind him.

“I’d say I’d let you go but you killed one of my men, and that needs answering…” The leader raised his rifle and aimed it for Jim’s forehead.

"Wait!" Jim held up his hand, and Oswald didn't realize he'd been hold his breath until he saw the man hesitate. “I was brought here against my will to begin with. Let me walk and I won’t tell anyone about what I saw here.” Jim said. “I'd call that even. The GCPD won’t bat much of an eye if Penguin’s killed in a gang war, but if I die… let’s just say it’ll catch up with you.” he trailed off, shrugging, betting the man was intuitive enough to understand.

After a few moments, the man lowered the rifle, nodding.

“Drop the gun, and you can leave,” He said. Oswald stared at him, some part of him certain he had some kind of plan to destroy all of them but another part terrified that it wasn’t so far fetched that he was going to leave. Jim Gordon had left and sent him to plenty of awful places in the past, was it foolish at this point to expect anything else?

Jim nodded with agreement, and bent down to place the gun on the floor, cringing at the strain in his ankle.

“Jim!” Oswald shouted, not positive whether he was playing along or genuinely begging. “Don’t let them do this to me!”

Jim barely glanced back before he started to walk, all eyes on him in case he decided to try anything.

Jim was only a few feet from the doorway when he stopped.

“Benjamin Ashton…” he said, looking over his shoulder at the man. “Was that your brother’s name?”

The man seemed taken off guard, and he regarded Jim quietly for a few moments, before—

“Yes…”

“We found his body alongside the river,” Jim said, gauging the man’s reaction. He seemed moved. “Up north—,” Jim didn’t get another word out before he grabbed the longneck rifle of the man closest to him and yanked it forward as the man holding it panic-pulled the trigger twice, shooting two rounds in the man directly across from him. Jim shoved the butt of the rifle back into his stomach, just in time for Oswald to snatch up the pistol Jim had placed on the ground and shoot the leader twice in the back before he could raise his weapon.

He collapsed immediately, the life leaving his eyes before he hit the floor. Jim raised the rifle once more and slammed the back end into the face of the one that was still holding his gut in anguish. With that, all three were dead or unconscious.

Oswald took a deep breath, taking in the scene before them. Five of them down, while both of them were standing. This seemed to be a commonplace sort of thing for Jim…

“For a second I thought you were really going to leave me to them…” Oswald forced a laugh as the tension dissipated. Jim wasn’t laughing when Oswald looked at him, though. He instead had one of the saddest looks that Oswald had ever seen on him.

“Obviously I’m going to call off the bounty…” Oswald forced a laugh, not liking the tension that came with that look.

“No hard feelings?” He pushed a little further, and that’s when Jim turned fully to face him.

Oswald stared at him, straightening up as much as he could and looking him in the eye, not sure what he was expecting or preparing for, but—

His eyes shifted down at the sign of movement behind Jim, as one of the bodies started to rise, weapon in hand, raising it—

“Jim!” Oswald shouted, side-stepping once and then lunging forward as he raised the pistol still in his hand and pulled the trigger blindly once, twice, three times…

The man collapsed to the ground with a total of five bullet wounds in his torso now. There was no way he’d be getting up again. Jim was closer now, only a step away, really.

Oswald turned his head to look at him, met his eyes...

And then that step was crossed.

He didn’t know which of them crossed it, maybe both, but he knew Jim was kissing him. Hands at his waist and hip, head tilted, mouth moving to the rhythm of Oswald’s heart which was beating fast but in slow motion.He didn’t know what to do with his hands. Half fists, half-raised as Jim raised one hand smoothly to cup his face, tilt his head and press deeper in a way that made Oswald want to melt.Acting on instinct, Oswald grabbed Jim’s lapels and tugged on them, trying desperately to convey that despite the surprise of it, he didn’t want this to stop.

That was until he remembered he had to breath.

Jim pulled back just in time to allow him to gasp for breath, but Oswald clung to him, keeping him close.

Jim’s eyes looked contemplative, and Oswald didn’t like it. He needed Jim to stop thinking so much. If Oswald did half as much critical thinking as Jim seemed to in moments like these he’d probably end up throwing Jim out a window. But he wanted to kiss him again— many times again, and that seemed to take precedence.

“I meant it,” Jim said softly, and Oswald blinked, not sure what he was on about. “I should have called, I don’t know why I…”

“I know why,” Oswald interrupted, rolling his eyes. Jim looked back at him, seeming perhaps a little taken off guard, a little hurt by the insinuation. Oswald was glad.

“You don’t know everything,” Jim argued, and Oswald sighed.

“Spare me the details of your internal conflict, Jim,” he said. “There was no way this wouldn’t be messy.”

Jim studied him for a few moments, and then the corner of hips lips twitched up into the smallest smile. Oswald was glad about that too. A little too glad, as he found it contagious, found himself smiling and looking down, his face feeling hot.

“I…” Jim stopped with his mouth open after he said that, and Oswald’s eyes flicked up to him with curiosity. He’d stopped himself, bit his tongue, that much was obvious. Was he going to apologize again? It didn’t seem like it…

“What?” Oswald asked.

“Missed you.” Jim said quickly, forcing another smile.

Oswald looked down again, feeling foolish for acting so sheepish when he was sure he should have been angrier. He was sure people assumed he was better at holding grudges than he truly was.

“Can you kiss me again?” Oswald asked as he raised his eyes again, but they didn’t quite make it up to Jim’s, and instead stopped on his lips. “Please…” he took a deep breath and then Jim was leaning in again, hands rising back to hold his face. Oswald leaned into it, pressing his body tight against Jim's and tugging him close as Jim's tongue teased his lips. He held on tight, and told himself he'd never again let this man out of his sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably gonna give this an epilogue where in Jim _does_ call.


End file.
